Monthly Archives: October 2015

The Coming of O

An unfortunate truth

A painful request of self.

To push away what one selfishly loves

To understand not everything can one wish to have and see

Especially Art, one must let it be

Much like a muse you cannot keep

Somethings must be sent back into the deep

The depth of Olokun’s sea

In the depths, it must be

The Universe within me wasn’t ready for thee

A constellation I was not meant to see

So I cry to Oya to comfort me

To make me a tree of life so I may be fertile for She

To feed and to make merry from all the love within me

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Haven in the Dirt

I crave your addictive touch

Who would have thought weaning myself off of you would have proved so rough

My back arches in readiness when I think of your name

Imagining what it would be like to call out your name

Yet it’s more than just the touch…

It’s the journey I should be writing of

The journey of the unloved and forgotten that found a haven in somewhere derilect and non forgiving

We are not too familiar in our touch but that’s because our senses are heightened

Over affection is an unnecessary token

For when it comes to it, our passion can smother

Any repression or aggression that the world may reap

It’s always with solace our parts meet

The secret smiles and the little squeezes

Soon become virile and passion ridden bodies, ready to explode with evidence of the true nature of our freak

These feelings, this freak.

Unbeknown before you met me.

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Love: The Horizon of Hate

I wish I had the courage to fully walk away

Not to say the aim is to hurt you

But to be free of all that binds me to you

You see my fairytale was different

A similar struggle but dimensions different enough to form a long arduous tunnel

But is there a light?

They say death is destruction because of the loss of life

But it seems here it might save mine

In all of your words I can’t find a sincere request to stay mine

So I begin to make plans of tearing myself open

Hoping that in all of the excess manure that is my internalised chaos

That the rare, delicate and beautiful could be found elegantly clinging to life

But then I realise – there is no point

For the minute I tear myself apart

The beauty ceases to exist for I have treated it callously

A sex doll with a mouth constantly in the shape of O

You’re just as bad as those who wish to    enslave me if you demand that I keep to a ‘you owe me’

This can’t go on no more

Digging a ditch wider and wider

The strength of an ox

But a grave still to shallow to bury this casket

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